


Be Aware

by sam80853



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:38:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam80853/pseuds/sam80853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets taken out by his date and meets an unusual waiter...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Aware

John and his date Rose were standing in front of ‘Mycroft’s’, a fancy looking restaurant John had never heard of. Rose had picked it.   
Usually John was old-fashioned and would have picked the venue but Rose had been rather insistent.

‘We really have to go, John,” Rose had said. ‘Mel has been last week and she said it’s wicket,’ she had winked at that, smiling mischievously.

‘Wicket,’ John had though. ‘Do people really talk like that nowadays?’

Maybe he should reconsider this whole dating business. Apparently he had been abroad too long - two tours to Afghanistan, eight weeks in hospital and endless days in physio weren’t really the right places to brush up on his dating skills.

“There is the sign,” Rose pointed out. “Just like Mel said.”

John had to say Rose sounded like an over excited school-girl. Perhaps it wasn’t his dating skills that were outdated but his taste in woman. Beggars can’t be choosers, John figured. Ex-army doctors with a limp weren’t really in high in demand these days, and John needed company. He had never fared well on his own and just because Rose was willing to go out with him, didn’t meant that he was going to marry her.

John moved closer the the restaurant’s window, heavily leaning on his cane.

_Consider yourself warned.  
Section three of this establishment is not for the weak._

Someone had added with black marker: **Be aware of Sherlock.**

John frowned but before he could question if they really should be having supper here Rose rushed inside, leaving John to follow.

The interior was painted in dark red with brown wood panels, giving it a cozy, familiar atmosphere. Not too posh, John realized with relief. This was an upper class part of London and John hadn’t been too certain if dinner here would leave him broke for the next month or so.

Also the restaurant was busy: waiters in dark suits serving and taking orders all around John. Either the sign outside was the restaurant owner’s idea of a joke or whoever Sherlock was, was not in today.

“Table for two?” The hostess, a dark-skinned woman by the name of Sally, asked, looking expectantly at John and Rose.

“Yes, please,” John answered.

“Have you been to our establishment before?” She asked, smiling.

“No. No, we have not,” John said, frowning. What would it matter if they have been here before?

“So, I think I won’t put you into section three then,” Sally said, pointing to her right where indeed a few tables were waiting for customers.

“Maybe you could, though,” John smiled, cocking his head challengingly. “Give us table in section three, I mean.”

“You read the sign, haven’t you?”

“We have, yes,” John admitted.

“All right, then,” Sally smiled. “You have been warned. No refunds,” she said and led them through the restaurant to a table by the window.

“Are you sure, John?” Rose asked, sounding rather uncertain but John just nodded and hold the chair for her.

“How bad can it be?” He whispered and took his seat.

“Sherlock will be with you in a minute,” Sally said and left.

While Rose took the menu and read through it John took a look around. Everybody seemed rather relaxed, not like a madman would suddenly appear at their table and do -- what exactly, John wondered.

The kitchen door swung open and another waiter rushed through, a bottle of champagne in hand. He was moving into their section: Sherlock.

Nothing about the man looked suspicious. Or dangerous, John mused.

Sherlock was wearing a dark suit like his co-workers. Maybe he wore it with a tad more -- attitude, John thought was the right word, than the others. He had a rather bored expression on his face like all this was beneath him.

The couple at the table Sherlock was approaching, exchanged nervous glances, John saw and he waited expectantly.

Nothing happened.

Sherlock served the champagne and the couple broke out in happy laughter. John couldn’t hear what was said but it obviously was all pleasant and civilized.

“Proposal,” Sherlock said when he made it over to their table. “Easy.”

John cleared his throat, feeling a bit embarrassed that he had been caught staring.

“Iraq or Afghanistan?” Sherlock asked and John felt like Sherlock was reading him like an open book with his piercing eyes.

“Sorry?”

“Which was it - Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock repeated.

“How…?”

“Never mind,” Sherlock shook his head, obviously irritated by John’s slowness.

“I would like a glass of…,” Rose said.

“No, you don’t,” Sherlock interrupted. “I think water would be best,” he continued. “No ice.”

“But I,” Rose tried but Sherlock would have nothing of it, looking at her directly now. “You would be tipsy after just one glass and I think your companion,” he gestured at John, “won’t be able to carry you with that limp. Psychosomatic, I’m afraid,” Sherlock added in John’s direction.

Neither John nor Rose were able to say anything.

“Two glasses of water it is,” Sherlock decided and left.

“That was rude,” Rose said, an offended expression on her face.

John chuckled, trying to suppress his amusement when Rose scowled at him.

“Sorry,” John apologized. “We read the sign after all.”

Rose nodded at that and put on her brave-face, John thought.

“Lets hope the food is worth it,” she said.

“I’m sure it is,” John said. The restaurant was full after all.

“We could have taken a cab, you know,” John said to Sherlock when he served him their water.

Sherlock looked at him, leant in so Rose wouldn’t be able to hear what he had to say: “You are almost broke,” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear. “I saved you the trouble. And the money.”

John should have been outraged, really, but all he felt was excitement. This man, Sherlock, was -- impossible.

John nodded his head in thank-you and reached for the menu when Sherlock straightened and waited for their order. Or so it seemed.

“You think, you have decided,” Sherlock said, shaking his head like he was questioning their choices already.

“I would like the portobello mushroom caps with…”

Sherlock sighed deeply. “Why are you pretending to be a vegan when you are clearly not?” He asked. “I’m certain your companion,” he looked at John in question.

“John.”

“John wouldn’t care,” Sherlock said. “You look half-starved. I recommend our ribs with mashed potatoes.” He wrote it down and turned to John.

“I think, I will leave it to you, thank you.” John said grinning and handed over the menu.

“Wise choice,” Sherlock smiled and left.

“You are encouraging him,” Rose accused him.

“I’m just playing along,” John said. “I like his -- style.”

Rose looked at him suspiciously but didn’t say anything. Silence fell and John hadn’t had the faintest what to talk to her about. When Rose couldn’t think of anything either John turned to observing Sherlock.

Now with a bit of inside John could easily assert who has been here before and who hasn’t. 

Sherlock had a little chat with a grey haired man and his partner a few tables over. Both seemed very relaxed and obviously were accustomed to Sherlock’s behaviour.

Another conversation at a table by the window left from John didn’t go over so well. The woman poured her glass of red wine over her male companion and left the restaurant, furiously muttering under her breath while her up-stood associate reached for Sherlock. Obviously ready to get violent.

John was about to stand when the grey-haired man from earlier intervened. John could make out a badge just before, an obviously alarmed by the hostess, kitchen chef rushed in.

“Not again, Sherlock,” the man said, lending a hand to get the outraged customer under control.

“I will take it from here, Mycroft,” the grey-haired police officer said with a smile like this wasn’t an unusual occurrence at all.

“Thank you, Greg.” Mycroft said and dragged Sherlock with him into the kitchen.

John had followed the whole scene with high interest, wondering how Sherlock still had his job.

“I hope he gets fired,” Rose said loud enough to be heard not just by John but everybody around them.

People looked at her with disbelief in their eyes.

“What?” Rose noticed their glances. “He really should, you know,” she added sheepishly.

“We don’t know what happened there,” John said. “Maybe…”

“Why are you defending him?” Rose asked. “He has nothing but rude to me and you, you seemed -- happy.”

“Rose,” John reached over the table for her hand. “I’m not defending anyone. I’m just saying…”

“I need the lady’s room,” Rose announced without waiting for John to finished, stood and walked rather awkwardly toward the restrooms at the back of the restaurant.

“That could have gone worse,” Sherlock was suddenly standing beside John’s table.

“You mean better, don’t you?” John rose his eyebrows in question.

“No,” Sherlock frowned. “I think ‘worse’ is the correct description.”

John laughed.

“You all right, though?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Sherlock asked in puzzlement, putting down cutlery.

“You are not in trouble with your boss or anything?”

“Oh,” Sherlock looked up.” You mean… No, that was just my brother Mycroft.” He said that was so much disdain in his voice that John started laughing again.

“I really see now why there is a warning label in the window.” John said still smiling.

“You don’t seem to be offended,” Sherlock stated.

“I’m not, no,” John agreed, locking eyes with Sherlock and for the first time this evening John felt comfortable in his own skin. Like nothing he could possibly say or do would be judged by this man staring right back at him.

The moment stretched and John’s field of vision got smaller and smaller, only leaving space for those impossible eyes…

Somebody near them cleared their throat.

“I would like to leave now, John.” Rose stated sullenly.

“I called you a cab five minutes ago,” Sherlock answered without breaking eye contact with John. “I’m certain it’s waiting outside already.”

“John?” Rose waited.

John couldn’t move. He just could not. Sherlock was still drinking him in and John was certain he wouldn’t be able to move even if a bomb were to got off right beside him.

“What were you thinking inviting her here, John?” Sherlock asked after what seemed like an eternity.

John blinked a few times in confusion. Sherlock was sitting in Rose’s chair now, a plate of food in front of him - ribs with mashed potatoes, John noticed.

“What…?”

“She left,” Sherlock interrupted. “Your food is getting cold,” he pointed out. “Do eat up. It’s on the house, I know the chef.”

“Do you do this often then?” John asked, digging into his food which was rather delicious.

“What?”

“Taking over other people’s dates.”

“You weren’t on a date,” Sherlock protested. “That woman would have had you in tears of boredom within hours.”

“So, you think you are better suited?” John asked hopefully.

“Absolutely.” 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd


End file.
